The Last Dance

by Kiki Hamilton

  “Oh my God, he’s right there,” she whispered.

  I turned to look and Q puked all over the front of my gown.

  IT WASN’T A surprise that some of the football players had been drinking. Q must have been one of them. He puked on me then passed out on the floor. They had to call the medics and take him away in an ambulance. Mira was a wreck. In fact, Q’s girlfriend, Laurel, held it together better than Mira did. To be honest, she seemed more pissed that her party had been cut short than worried about Q.

  After they took him away, Mira, Shelby, Lily and I went into the bathroom to do damage control but it turns out you can wash puke out of a skirt, but not the smell. I didn’t have any choice but to leave. After watching Q collapse, Mira didn’t want to stay either. Shelby called her dad and he said he’d come and get her and Lily later so, with their blessing, Mira and I headed for the parking lot.

  When we got to Jefferson, Mira climbed in and reached across the seat to unlock my side.

  “Roll down the windows,” she said as she started the engine. “You stink, girlfriend.”

  I was somewhere between laughing, crying and gagging over the smell as I manually rolled down the window. Gotta love those vintage cars.

  “This is not how I imagined this night going,” Mira said in a small voice.

  I looked down at my water-stained skirt that had been so beautiful just an hour before. My lower lip trembled and I bit down hard to force the tears away. “Yeah.” My voice sounded rough. “It’s funny—I don’t remember Cinderella getting puked on in the story.”

  Mira laughed and pointed to my wrap where I’d left it in the back seat. “At least part of your Cinderella dress is still clean.”

  I looked back at the beautiful lavender fabric as Mira shifted the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Moonlight glinted off the sparkly parts and a single tear rolled down my cheek. It didn’t seem like any part of my life ever went according to my plans.

  Chapter Eight

  Kellen

  It was the annoying beeping that woke me up. Why was my alarm clock going off? I never set that thing. I opened my eyes and looked around, planning to pound the shit out of it. A TV was mounted near the ceiling and a white board was on the wall in front of me with the words “Nancy” written in blue ink. I turned my head and looked out the wall of windows to my right. There was an expansive view of tree tops. Where was I?

  “Kellen, honey.” My mom ran her fingers over my forehead. There was a tone in her voice I’d never heard before. Relief? Fear? My father stood just behind her, staring at me. “Do you know who I am?”

  I scowled at her. What the hell kind of question was that? Black circles colored the space beneath her eyes. My mother always looked like a million bucks, but right now her hair was pulled back in a headband and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. The only time I saw her like that was when we were at the lake.

  “Off courth,” I slurred. I tried to push myself into a sitting position. That’s when I realized I had wires and tubes attached to me.

  “Don’t sit up yet.” My mom pushed on my shoulders to keep me down and suddenly I was wide awake. The annoying beeping started going much faster and with a shock I realized it was a heart monitor. For my heart. “You’ve had an accident. You’re in the hospital.”

  “Wha?” I croaked. My mouth felt like I’d just spent an hour in the dentist’s chair.

  “It was at the football game. You bumped your head and…” her voice dropped off and she pressed her lips together. My father put his hand on her shoulder. His other hand was resting on the white blankets that covered my left leg.

  My dad cleared his throat. “There were complications, son.”

  I DON’T REMEMBER much of anything about the Homecoming Dance. I remember being with Laurel and getting our picture taken in front of that crazy Eiffel Tower with the corny Parisian photographer dude with the fake moustache. I remember Laurel going on about some girl she thought was a geek. But that was it. My mom told me the dance had been a week ago.

  Yeah. A WEEK.

  Freaky, right?

  Apparently, the tackle where I’d gotten sacked—gotten my ‘bell rung’ as Ollie had put it—had injured my brain and two arteries had started to bleed. They call it a closed head injury. That’s why I had such a killer headache at the dance. My brain was bleeding.

  They also called it intracranial hematoma.

  Try to say that ten times fast.

  Turns out, I can’t even say it once now. The words are just fine in my head but I can’t seem to get them out of my mouth. It’s like half of my tongue is numb. Or like I drank a bottle of Cuervo on my own. I figured it must be the painkillers they have me on.

  “HI HONEY, how’re you doing today?”

  I opened my eyes at the sound of my mom’s cheery voice, even though the morning sun made my head hurt. Her bright orange sweater didn’t hide the black circles that still shadowed the skin under her eyes. I wondered if she ever slept anymore. She stayed in the hospital with me until ten p.m. every night and was back at seven a.m. the next morning.

  “Dad had to go into the office this morning but he’ll swing by later this afternoon and check on you.” She leaned over the bed rail and smoothed my hair back so she could kiss my forehead.

  I closed my eyes. I swear my mom had aged ten years since the Homecoming game. And my dad—he acted all upbeat and kept saying ‘you can handle this, son’, but there’s this look in his eyes—like he’d seen the depths of hell or something. It scared me.

  I’D BEEN SLEEPING a lot the last few days. The only visitors they let in were my mom and dad. Occasionally, Dr. Murdoch came by and checked things. She asked me all sorts of ridiculous questions. And she wanted me to move my arms and legs, but that didn’t go so good. My right side—my throwing arm—seemed to be affected the most.

  “Can you move the fingers of your right hand, Kellen?”

  I stared at my hand as I tried, but my fingers only twitched. It was like a circuit had been disconnected between my body and my brain. Like my arm belonged to somebody else now.

  “Um hum,” Dr. Murdoch said, like not being able to move your freakin’ hand was no big deal. “What about your right leg?”

  At first, I’d tried to convince myself that nothing serious was going on, just a bad concussion or something. But I didn’t believe it anymore. I gritted my teeth and lifted my head off the pillow as I grabbed the silver bed railing. It was all I could do to shift my leg on the mattress. Dr. Murdoch scribbled some notes on the chart. A terrible fear that had been slowly gnawing at my insides suddenly bubbled in my stomach until I thought I was going to be sick. I couldn’t deny it anymore. This was bad. Really bad.

  “TIME TO GET out of bed, Kellen.” The nurse bustled into my room and began unhooking the assortment of beeping machines that were attached to me. I checked the white board. Her name was Suzy. In purple ink. Suzy draped the cords over the machine and released the safety bar from the side of my bed. “Roll up to a sitting position and swing your legs to the side of the bed.”

  My right arm was no support as I pushed into a sitting position. I could swing my left leg just fine, but my right leg only partially got the message and dragged across the sheets. I wanted to slide my hand under my knee and lift my leg up, but my hand was too weak.

  “Let me help you with that, dear.” With surprising efficiency, the nurse stretched over the end of the bed and lifted my right heel. “Just swing around this way.” Then she gently lowered my right foot to hang next to my left. “Hold on to the bed when you stand and just take your time. I’ve got you on this side.” I pushed myself out of bed and stood up. Suzy slid close to my right side and put her arm around my waist. Her head just reached my shoulder.

  I wobbled and reached for the handrail on the bed, but Suzy had released it to the floor so I could get out of bed. I could barely keep my balance. It was like my right leg was made of jello. My arm wasn’t much better. Thank God the nurse was holding
me up or I would have done a face-plant faster than you could’ve said ‘what a dumbshit.’

  I STARED AT the silver walker that stood next to my bed. It was the same freakin’ thing my grandma used to use. Even down to the sliced green tennis balls on the front legs. They wanted me to ‘walk’ the floor of the hospital with a walker. Supposedly it was just until I built up my strength and coordination again, but I wasn’t so sure. Because I’d tried it—twice now—and it was all I could do to get around the entire floor and back to my room. WTF has happened to me?

  I WAS STARVING when lunch came. It was spaghetti, which sounded really good. I forgot about my gimpy right hand and reached for the apple juice. The cup slipped out of my fingers and spilled all over the tray and onto my blankets. What a freakin’ mess.

  After the nurse, Kathy in green ink, got that cleaned up I tried to eat but I couldn’t manage. As soon as I lifted the fork, the pasta slid off. I finally got so frustrated that I cleared my entire lunch tray with one swipe of my arm. The tray, the plate, the tin dome lid and the food all clattered to the floor in an explosion of sound. Spaghetti sauce went everywhere. Talk about making some noise.

  Embarrassed and guilty at the same time, I mumbled ‘sorry’ which came out sounding like ‘sawy’ before I turned on my side. I stared out the window while Kathy and some other nurse cleaned up another mess of mine. I never used to have a temper but now I’m so angry all the time.

  THEY LET COACH in to see me today. He took his ball cap off as he approached my bed, like he was at a funeral or something.

  “How you doin’, son?” He looked so sad.

  “Goo Coash.” I closed my eyes at my garbled speech. Shit. Coach’s usual gruffness couldn’t hide his pity. For a second I thought I was going to cry.

  “Don’t worry, Kellen.” He patted my shoulder with that big hand of his. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You concentrate on getting better.” I couldn’t decide if his encouragement made me feel better or worse.

  I wanted to ask Coach about the scouts. I wanted to ask him if I would start when I got back to school. I knew Mark Carter must be starting quarterback now.

  But I didn’t.

  I just nodded and said ‘yeah.’

  THEY LET OLLIE and CJ in to see me.

  “Hey, buddy. How ya doin’?” Ollie sauntered in with that easy walk of his and leaned over the bed guardrail to grab my left hand to shake it. I wondered if they’d told him about my right hand because he’d never grabbed my left hand before in his life.

  “You’re lookin’ good, Kell, won’t be long before they kick you outta this joint,” CJ said as he stepped up next to Ollie. His hair was picked in a ‘fro today which made him look even taller than he already was. They both looked so good—so strong and healthy.

  I just nodded and gave them a thumbs up. I hated to admit it, but I didn’t want to try and talk in front of them and sound like an idiot because my speech was still messed up. So I just nodded and said ‘yeah’ occasionally, and hoped that maybe they wouldn’t notice.

  “Coach is letting Carter start, but just as a filler until you get back,” CJ said. “We really needed you last week against Northside. Hansen’s field goal kicks were the only thing that saved our asses.”

  Ollie leaned his elbows on the bed’s side bar, the muscles flexing in his arms. “And Jazzy said to tell you hi.” He mock-punched me in the shoulder. “She wanted me to give you a hug and a kiss, but I’m gonna pass on that one.”

  I pressed my lips together and tried to hold back my smile, because my lips didn’t move like they’re supposed to anymore. Something flickered in Ollie’s eyes and then he blinked to hide it. I think he could tell.

  It was only a few minutes later when he pushed off the railing and nudged CJ.

  “Well, we better hit the road, bro. They told us not to stay in here too long and interrupt your beauty sleep.” A wave of relief washed over me. I was exhausted just trying to hide how fucked up I was. “We wanted to check in and let you know we’re here for you, buddy.” He put his hand on my leg and patted my left knee, his skin dark against the white of the hospital sheets. His voice got soft. “Hang in there, man.”

  “Yeah, let us know if you need anything, Kell,” CJ added. “I mean, anything.” His voice wavered and he sort of looked like he was trying not to cry.

  “Thanks.” The word came out garbled, but I’m pretty sure they understood me.

  Ollie raised his hand as they walked out the door, then flipped it to a thumbs up. “We’ll see you soon.”

  I returned the thumbs up with my left hand. Once they were out the door I turned to stare out the windows at my elevated view of a nearby forest. My hospital room was high enough that I could see over the tops of the trees, like a bird in flight. But the reality was I couldn’t even walk on my own two feet. I blinked against the sudden pressure in my eyes. Ollie and CJ’s visit reminded me of the one thing I’d tried not to think about: I hadn’t heard from Laurel.

  Chapter Nine

  Ivy

  Mira rushed up to me in the school hallway, her eyes wide with excitement. There was a hot pink streak through the blonde hair that swept across her forehead that matched the hot pink dotted mini and black fishnet leggings she was wearing—complete with hot pink boots. I was in skinny leg jeans, black boots and a black shirt. Somebody had to balance her flamboyance.

  “Ivy—” she clutched at my arm, her hands encased in hot-pink fingerless gloves— “did you hear that Kellen Peterson got out of the hospital?”

  I kept walking. There was barely enough time to navigate the crowded halls of Griffin High and get to my fourth period orchestra class within the four minutes they allotted us. I definitely didn’t have time to stop and chat.

  “The quarterback?” I didn’t dare make fun of him now. My crack about Q the quadriplegic still rang in my ears with an uncomfortable resonance, because from everything I’d heard, the dude was seriously messed up.

  “Of course.” Mira hurried along with me. “How many Kellen Petersons do you think go to this school?”

  Before Kellen’s accident I hadn’t really given the star quarterback much thought other than to listen to Mira prattle on about him. But now, it was pretty gut-wrenching what had happened to the guy.

  We were both seniors. He was in my AP English class. Eight months and seventeen days and we were all out of here. I was bound for college—if my parent’s got their wish it would be either Stanford, Harvard or Yale. That is, if I survived playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 5 in D Major next weekend as the showcase piece of our Fall symphony concert. I wondered what the future held for him now.

  “Q was in a coma for a week after the game.”

  Mira knew I was not a fan of football. In my opinion, it was a stupid game where the main goal seemed to be to try and hurt the other player. I knew about Q’s condition because that was all Mira and anybody else had talked about for days after the game.

  Mira adjusted the black sparkly messenger bag slung across her shoulder she used as a backpack. “They wouldn’t let anybody see him. They had to drill a hole in his head to let off the pressure. I heard they think he had a mini-stroke.”

  I flicked my long bangs to one side so I could get a better look at her face. “The way you keep track of him and talk about him all the time, you’d think you were his girlfriend.” I nudged her with my elbow, trying to get her to look at me. “Don’t you think you should leave it to his real girlfriend?”

  Mira averted her eyes. “His real girlfriend is a bitch.”

  I frowned. Mira didn’t swear very often. She made up imaginary swear words instead, like ‘shizzle’ or ‘holy chicken head’. I cleared my throat. “Apparently he doesn’t think so.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t know.” She glanced over her shoulder to see who was behind us in the hall before she continued in a whisper. “I heard that Laurel’s been seeing Josh Hendershot behind Q’s back.” Mira made a hissing noise in the back of her throat. The sound a
lways reminded me of a vampire but it was her way of verbalizing her utmost disgust. “Cheating on someone while they’re in a coma—that is seriously cold.”

  “Yeah. Downright bitchy.” I, on the other hand, had no problem with swear words. I looped my arm through hers and pulled her around the corner into the commons that led to the orchestra room. “But the good news is—it’s not our problem.”

  Chapter Ten

  Kellen

  I had to go home in a wheelchair. It was like my brain wasn’t connected to my body anymore. The docs scheduled me for physical therapy five days a week because I need to strengthen my right arm and leg. Not to mention my fingers. My handwriting looked worse than a first grader’s.

  They also gave me a journal. A going-away present, I guess. Told me to start with today and write something every day. But I started with the day of the homecoming game. That’s when everything changed.

  Usually I only write a line or two because it takes forever, though it’s hardly legible. My right hand won’t work and I can’t write for crap with my left. I guess this way I don’t have to worry about anyone reading it.

  Thank God I could communicate with my friends by texting. Sort of.

  I kept hoping this was all a nightmare and maybe I’d wake up.

  MY MOM TOOK another week off work to stay home with me and drive me to physical therapy since I couldn’t drive my truck yet. The work-outs were grueling, but I was used to it after all the years I’d trained for football, basketball and baseball. At least I could take my frustration out on the machines. But in the end, they always kicked my butt.

  Then there was my homework. Ollie and CJ were taking turns bringing my assignments over to the house for me. They knew how bad things were now. How my leg and arm were messed up. How tough it was to talk clearly. They promised they wouldn’t tell.

  I’d discouraged anybody else from stopping by, though it was nice to know so many people cared and wanted to help. Some of the kids from school even put up a ‘Welcome Home Kellen’ banner across our front porch.